


Feathers

by vanillafluffy



Category: Criminal Minds, The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors
Genre: Curtain Fic, Fluff, Hidden money, M/M, Minor Angst, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: Sometimes Spencer feels inadequate and worries that Jupe isn't fulfilled with him. All it takes to change his mind is a simple cup of tea.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taryn (Hermit)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Taryn+%28Hermit%29).



The townhouse always feels emptier after Jupiter has departed. He’s barely left--looking at his watch, Spence knows he’s still at the airport, his flight won’t even start boarding for another thirty-two minutes. There are books he could read, paperwork he could get done…none of which seems at all interesting.

Every time Jupe goes back to Rocky Beach, Spence wonders if this is it, if this is the last time he’ll see him…not that he’s worried about plane crashes--very low probability of that!--no, he’s concerned Jupe will find someone better. Supposedly, this is the last trip; Jupe’s going to turn the salvage yard over to the family he’s found to take over running it, and then he’s coming back to DC to stay. 

Spence yearns for it, for more than a few days or weeks here or there. They’ve been seeing each other, back and forth, for--three years, four months and sixteen days?! How is that possible? 

Aside from his teammates, he can’t think of anyone who’s voluntarily sought out his company for forty hours, let alone forty months. But Jupe isn’t like anyone else he’s ever met; most people turn glassy-eyed when Spence cites statistics or obscure facts. Jupe will usually follow up with a question--indicating willingness to hear more--or counter with information of his own.

They’re a lot alike in that respect, Spence thinks as he traipses into the kitchen, a hollow sensation in his middle. Jupe may not have an eidetic memory, but he’s prodigiously well-read on a range of topics, and has a variety of hands-on skills that Spence can’t begin to emulate. Such as fixing the sticking back door, or painting the living room when Spence was called out of town on a case the morning after Jupe’s arrival. 

Jupe doesn’t have to read up on how to do that; he already knows the process and hasn’t the slightest qualm about going ahead and doing it. Which was why, when Spence returned the following night, the living room was a warm shade of parchment, softly golden in the lamplight.

A cup of tea would be pleasant, soothing. And maybe a cookie or three. It’s a simple task that doesn’t require concentration.

That’s another difference between them. Jupe mostly prefers black tea with the highest caffeine yield possible. Spence turns to coffee for his caffeine fix, and the occasional energy drink. He likes herbal or green teas. He doesn’t go through the rigmarole that Jupe does--heat the pot, heat the cup, set a timer to monitor how long it steeps…no, Spence nukes a cup of water in the microwave, drops a tea bag in and waits a few minutes. 

There! Cup, water, microwave set for one minute. Really, it doesn’t need to be so complicated.

Thinking of Jupe, he reaches for the brightly colored tin on the top shelf, the Orange Pekoe Spice. Jupe won’t begrudge him a bag.

The lid of the tin doesn’t fit snugly. It comes off in his hand and teabags go everywhere. He sets the lid on the counter and retrieves twenty-eight bags and the bottom of the tin. Fortunately, they’re wrapped, so he doesn’t have to trash them, just put them carefully back in the tin, save for the one he’s going to brew.

He starts when the timer goes off, and knocks the lid to the floor.

The brassy tin lid reflecting upward has a piece of dark green paper taped to inside. He rescues it, and Ulysses Grant looks back at him: it’s a $50 bill. Smiling, he gently manipulates the tin so the lid will fit better, then returns it all to the top shelf, leaving the 18th President to defend the Orange Pekoe Spice. 

On one of his visits to Rocky Beach, Spence had accidentally found some cash (three $20 bills) tucked into a book ( _Travels With Charley_ ). When he’d shown it to Jupe, his lover smiled and shrugged. Having a little cash squirreled away here and there makes him feel secure. Oh sure, he has money in the bank, but having a few acorns hidden around the house is comforting.

Spence unwraps the teabag, gets the mug of hot water out of the microwave, introduces the two, and leans back against the counter to wait. 

If Jupe is continuing his custom of stashing little caches of cash here, then he feels at home, which points to him coming back. That’s more reassuring than anything else he can think of, more real than Jupe’s nest-building…no, it’s just another kind of nest-building, Spence thinks, profiling unconsciously. One of the expressions for saving money is' feathering one’s nest'. So the painting and arranging furniture and repairing things, that’s putting their actual “nest” together, but the concealed treasure troves are Jupe’s way of settling in.

When he’d asked what purpose the random stockpiles of money served, Jupe smiled and answered placidly. “It comes in handy if I run short on petty cash in the salvage yard. Or if I need something at the store and I don’t feel like going to the ATM. Or if my wallet is empty and I want to tip the pizza delivery guy. That kind of thing.” It made sense, when he put it like that. 

Spence snags the teabag out of the cup. He adds sugar and stirs. It’s hot, but not scalding, and the flavor reminds him of kissing Jupe. 

As he reaches for the cookies, his phone begins to play “The Funeral March of the Marionettes”, meaning the man of the hour is calling. 

“I just brewed one of your tea bags,” Spence says after they’ve exchanged greetings. Never mind that they saw each other just an hour ago. “Orange Pekoe Spice. I had a butterfingers moment, dropped it, tea bags went everywhere. Don’t worry though--General Grant is still intact.

“Great minds think alike,” Jupe responds. His voice is a pleasant low rumble, both soothing and stimulating. “I picked up a cup of chai at the Starbucks here. Cheers!” 

“Cheers.”

“I’m going to try to be back by the end of the month--” It’s currently the 6th. “--but I have to finish getting myself out, get the Dacostas in, get them trained in how the salvage business works--it doesn’t run itself, that’s for sure!--and then drive back here with my stuff.” 

It’ll be great to have you here all the time.“ Spence takes another swallow of tea. “Don’t forget to empty all your piggy banks before you leave.”

“I don’t know…I’ll probably leave some of it behind. That way, if the Dacostas get into a jam, I can tell them to go look above the light strip in the bathroom, or wherever. Stuff happens. I figure they can use a nest egg. Enough to cover repairs to the truck, for instance.”

Spence chuckles. Even Jupe is using the nesting metaphor.

“What?”

“You’re a wise old owl,” Spence tells him.

“Not that old!” Spence is a couple years younger than his partner, but there would have been some overlap in their high school years, if Spence hadn’t been in college at the time.

“Definitely that smart. And kinder than any owl--” He stops--there’s no tactful end to that sentence. Owls are predators, Jupe is anything but.

Jupe shrugs off his good deeds as ‘Anyone would help’, but Spence’s world view is darker. Meanwhile, Jupe is turning management of the salvage yard and the house where he grew up over to a family that’s been struggling. He could have found someone with more experience, or sold it outright, but now it’s going to shelter and provide a living for people who need it.

“I’m sorry, what kind of owl?” Spence is saved having to answer by a garbled announcement in the background. “Damn, they’re boarding. I’ll call you later when I get in. Take care of yourself!”

“You too,” Spencer murmurs. Then he’s holding a dead phone. He glances back up at the tin on the top shelf. 

Ellen Parr said, “The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.” Spencer wonders how many feathers Jupe has tucked away in unlikely places. Instead of brooding, he thinks, it would be interesting to investigate and see what else he can find.

Starting in the bathrooms.

…


End file.
